


silver veins

by Skellington101



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Drowning, Hurt Corin, Hurt/Comfort, Keldabe Kiss, Mandorin MerMay Contest, Mer Din, MerMay, Minor Paz/Raga, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Rescue Missions, Self-Worth Issues, Selkie Baby Yoda, The Mandalorians are Merfolk, They're still in the Star Wars Universe though, Whump, idiots to lovers, so minor bc Paz still needs to get his shit together cmon man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24317047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skellington101/pseuds/Skellington101
Summary: "When the wind blows fierce and the snow flurries dance,they'll call your name.When the moon rises high and eyes meet by chance,they'll say their claim.By a whisper of dying candle light,you'll hear their pleas.By the looming of snow mountain's height,you'll bow on your knees.A soul worth one is less than them all,the mourning cry wails.A snowstorm howls for a love so small,the warrior hails.(If one could love you so softly, their hands carry you to the next dawning day.)"- Unknown
Relationships: Baby Yoda & Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret) & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Paz Vizla/Raga (Family and Home)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	silver veins

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there and welcome to late MerMay content! I had fun with this, and it probably shows :3c but enjoy!
> 
> This is set in the Star Wars universe, before the fall of the Empire but close to it, but the Mandalorians are merfolk instead, and so are a couple other key characters. Corin is still our lovely Stormtrooper, but he hasn't rebelled quite yet ;)

“Trooper CT-113.”

Standing guard in one of the largest facilities on Tectum, there are plenty of threats to defend against, from the wildlife that traipsed the snowy plains, to the natives that hunted their patrols and picked them off like cattle. Only a rare moment of good luck brought him to the posting, but bad luck always follows with the arrival of Captain Derge Thilleon.

The older CTs have many cautionary tales about the Captain’s command. He’s smart enough to heed them, unlike the other idiots on base who’ve already earned his wrath.

CT-113 stiffens up and stands at attention, ramrod straight in the face of his commanding officer. Captain Thilleon, flinty eyes and a razor-sharp scowl that seems to pin him down like a stake to the ground, sneers at him.

“Your squad is on the next shift for Sector A3, sending out now, since the last squad hasn’t reported back in. Your troopers are to search for their whereabouts and report in on any suspicious activity.”

“Yes, sir.” The helmet provides him with the mercy of concealed facial features, so Captain Thilleon can’t see the way his lips press together tightly and his eyes flicker away to flashes of recent memories.

FN-422 and CT-490 were in that squad. And with FN-422’s knack for navigation, it’s unlikely they got lost.

Bad luck. It happens.

The Captain gestures forward, and CT-113 automatically follows him as he starts walking down the hallway they stopped in.

“The planet’s _inhabitants_ are acting up,” Thilleon spits the words like they’re poison, his nose flared out in anger. Each step he takes is precise and heavy, a rhythmic beat against the duracrete. “They must be taught once more the wrath of the Empire, and that their paltry attempts at rebelling will only manage to get them crushed like insects under the Empire’s heel.”

CT-113 barely reacts, only nodding once with another mechanical, “yes, sir,” to answer him. He didn’t want to provoke the man, or else he’d have whatever happened to CT-293 to happen to him.

Said ‘inhabitants’ were the Mandalorians, the original residents of the planet until the Empire came in and took it as well as their main homeplanet, Mandalore, under it’s control. Why they chose such a planet, he figured to be how no one else would choose to live here willingly.

It was thought that they were long-extinct, thought to be only dregs in the bottom of the barrel, or so the Stormtrooper Academy where he was taught led him to believe. It was usually what happened to groups like that, or any sort of opposing military group unless they worked for the Empire.

His father had told him about as much, his brow crinkling in disgust as he described their occupations as bounty hunters, money-for-hires that cared little for what they did, as long as they got paid. “Like stubborn flies,” he’d said, during one strategy lesson.

“Not to be underestimated,” his uncle had stated coldly, glaring at him pointedly. They utilized many weapons, had their own fighting styles. Could take out whole squads in minutes. Mysterious, with helmets that hid faces, and armor that blocked heavy blaster shots. They watched their prey, waited like sharks beneath calm waters.

And he was stationed on their planet.

There weren’t many left, but they still lingered, pissed enough to pick a few Troopers off every other shift and slip into hiding to avoid the retaliation. They were protective of their people, would not risk anything close to eradication like the Empire would promise them if they caused too many problems.

CT-113 was lucky enough to have missed those attacks.

_If they chose to start fighting back now—_

It wouldn’t matter. They’re the enemy. CT-113 would be defending the base and any sort of resistance would be put down.

Captain Thilleon stops, and turns to face him. An unpleasant gleam enters his eyes, bright and searching. “Tell me something, CT-113. Do you know exactly how the Empire deals with it’s problems?”

 _It destroys them, and leaves barely a trace behind_. _Just enough for people to fear them—_

But CT-113 isn’t supposed to have opinions. Stormtroopers do not have beliefs or wants. They are soldiers. He listens to his superiors and follows orders.

And he does not hesitate to answer. “We eliminate them in order to ensure the peace and prosperity of the Empire, sir.”

Captain Thilleon is not the only such fanatic believer of the Empire’s ideals, but he is fierce among them. CT-113 didn’t take up such thoughts, would take his orders and bury himself in them rather than think about his helmet joining the others cast away in the ice. But the near obsessive behavior and pride at the Empire’s actions sends a chill down CT-113’s spine in a way the snow never did.

The Captain grins, long and jagged like broken glass. It was worse than his glaring, with every bit of the maliciousness he keeps hidden behind his command and carefully controlled demeanor. “That is correct, Trooper. Now, gather your squad and move out. Any hostiles should be captured, and if any of the planet’s inhabitants are spotted, they are to be killed on sight and brought back to the facility immediately. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good,” Captain Thilleon says, and dismisses him.

CT-113 turns away and marches off, a lethal gaze digging into the small of his back with every step.

* * *

CT-113 has never been a very good Stormtrooper.

When command had first announced the opportunity to transfer to the frigid ice planet, CT-113 had been secretly relieved. Unlike the sandy depths of Tatooine or the bustling city of Coruscant, cold weather and icy mountains always reminded him of home, a happier time when his mother was alive to play with him in snow banks and skate on frozen lakes.

It was like there was a tug underneath his skin, as if gravity was pulling him into its orbit. A whisper brushing his ear, urging him to go, to move. To step onto the transport and travel down to the planet’s frozen surface.

His father told him only to trust what he knew and was told by his superiors, that orders mattered more than anything he would ever feel. He was only to be a good Stormtrooper, and that his work would mean the success of the Empire, even if he were to die for its cause.

So, he went. Those were his orders.

Every cycle he’d wake up in the barracks first, just in time get morning shift and see the absolutely stillness of freshly lain snow out in the clearing where their base was nestled between two mountains, and he’d get to breathe in the crisp, cold air before he eventually had to drag his bucket back on and haul ass to the mess.

The planet’s climate was similar to his former home planet, but there were no season changes. Only blizzards and ice, snowstorms that threatened the generators every cycle, and a churning ocean that covered half of the planet’s surface.

And yet, it was familiar, the same struggles of soaked gear from hours of plodding through snow, the slippery floors every time the doors opened for too long and let snow in. It wasn’t home, he wasn’t delusional to think that anything would ever be that nice for him again, but it was close enough.

CT-113 absentmindedly straps on his remaining armor pieces and latches his helmet into place, the HUD flickering on to signal his connection to the rest of his squad members. His E-11 blaster rifle is checked, as is the battery pack to the thermal units underneath the plastoid, all in working order.

CT-765 nudges him with one shoulder, her gear already prepped. “Brief?”

He nods, and they all assemble around him, CT-329 and FN-2921 still clipping on their thermal units.

He begins, “Captain Thilleon has given new orders. Our squad is to head out to patrol Sector A3, up near the cliffs, and search for or locate anything from the missing squad. Report any suspicious activity, and terminate any opposition you come across, locals included.”

Several confirmations ring out, and CT-504 grumbles quietly to FN-2921, but the orders are taken without question. It was better that way. With how FN-493 constantly fought back against where they were sent, none of them wanted to end up where he was.

The rest are grabbing supplies for the cliffs, grappling hooks and ion flares for any potential falls or ambushes. More than one vibroknife is also taken, slipped in the space between gauntlets or boots, because anything that was going to come after you would charge into close quarters and it would be far too late by that point for any blaster. CT-329 is gesturing to the flamethrower but CT-765 quickly shuts it down and shoves the regulation rifle into his hands.

She stops by him, one hand holding her rifle, the other brushing his shoulder. Asks quietly, “Any word?”

CT-490 had been her squad mate, before Captain Thilleon had reshuffled groups around until they fit his liking. Troopers who’d known each other for years in their squads were separated, many sent out to other bases or outposts. You couldn’t protest or fight back, just had to hope that maybe you’d see each other in a hallway or on a patrol, and not in a casualty report.

CT-113 understands what she meant. _Pat..._

“No confirmation,” he lowers his head slightly, keeps his eyes straight and his voice quiet. “But FN-422 was in their squad.”

Her shoulders tense, barely visible under the Snow trooper gear, but he knows. _FN-422 was known for their uncanny ability to navigate, on land or in space. They could’ve led a whole squadron through an asteroid belt with everyone intact._

“Kark,” she hisses out tightly, and CT-113 turns and pretends like he doesn’t hear it, like he doesn’t feel a familiar pang of bitterness lying deep in his chest.

CT-765 straightens up and waits next to the door, no hint of any feelings in her stance, only that of a soldier in parade rest waiting for orders. He muffles a sigh, instead calling out to the others. “Moving out in five.”

Soon enough, they line up and march out, CT-113 leading them out of the northwest entrance and into the howling winds.

The clouds are thick and dark around the planet, keeping the surface dark and frigid enough that they have to turn on night vision soon after leaving the perimeter of the base. He’s only seen it sunny once, and it was riveting for the ten minutes it lasted.

Rocks jut out every few steps, and if it wasn't for their boots, he's sure the ground would cut up their feet. They nearly blend in with the muted grays of the snow, easy enough for someone to misstep and injure themselves. Or worse, damage the thermal gear. As much as he loved the snow, he'd take a little pain over freezing to death before he could make it back to the base.

Chatter is quiet but steady on the comms, check-ins from everyone every ten minutes. CT-329 is still complaining about not bringing the flamethrower, of course, and CT-765 walks shoulder-to-shoulder with him. They don’t join in on the talk, CT-765 especially is too focused on their orders, but it’s amusing for him to hear anyways, once FN-2921 chimes in mockingly about CT-329 compensating for something.

CT-113 snorts, but his attention is still focused on the rising slope they’re walking up, getting closer to the missing squad’s last known location. Two homing beacons were activated, but only one is still working and it hasn’t moved at all since they last checked.

There’s a pause in the chatter, and CT-329 says into the comms, “Hey, Thirteen, think we’ll run into anything? I could use a fight after all this time doing jackshit.” CT-113 can practically hear the anticipation in his voice.

He rolls his eyes, but says, “There’s a chance, but keep it down, Nines. We don’t _want_ to draw their attention.”

“Yeah,” CT-329 begins to whine, “but where’s the fun in doing _nothing_ —”

CT-765 bursts out, hissing the words bitterly, “Will you shut your _kriffin’ mouth_? We’ve lost three squads on this route, including this one, so maybe shove it and don’t ask to get killed.”

Everyone quiets down after that, and CT-113 thinks it’s a little deserved. She’s angry and already grieving, her grip tight on her rifle and her helmet staring stubbornly forward.

It leaves a tense silence on the rest of the group, but he doesn’t mind. It lets them move faster, more efficient now that the other troopers are scanning the area for disruptions or clues of anything.

CT-113 hits the marked location, a plateau where the mountains border each side and it ends in a cliff facing out to the ocean, and their boots crunch to a stop.

He looks around, signalling them to search and keep watch. Going first, he scans the ground for disturbed snow and snow trooper armor.

It’s not quiet, with the snow falling steadily in a strong wind and the crunch of snow under his boots, but he can’t hear anything. Not through the audio processors in his bucket, and he can’t see any glimpses of buried bodies.

Not a good sign, but not a bad one either. He can only hope they found a cave, or something, to hunker down in, but it’s up to luck to decide that.

They find nothing, until—

“Over here!”

FN-2921 points to something in the snowdrift and he strides over, the others staying positioned around the clearing. Shuffling his boot around, FN-2921 uncovers the object in the snow, and it’s a burnt flare, the edges charred and used up.

“They were here,” CT-113 mutters, grimacing under his bucket. They signalled for help, were desperate enough to light a flare even if there was no one around to see it.

Still no sign of what went after them, or what caught them all, if it did. Plenty of creatures here would be able to carry them off, locals might've dumped the bodies off the cliffside. Their gear isn't light by any means, but anyone strong enough would be able to do it.

 _Karking hell, might as well be at a dead_ _end_.

Snow falls quickly, and even their footsteps are already being covered. Any sort of tracks will be erased, and the squad will be brushed off as missing just like all the others.

Another shout rings from across the clearing, and he straightens up, jogging over with his rifle at the ready.

CT-329 is staring down over the cliff, and he peers over it too, the other Troopers gathering at his back. CT-113 inhales sharply—

Another plateau sits further down the cliff, accessible with a little walkway on the side. CT-113 hurriedly jogs down the path to the area, where several figures lay halfway uncovered in snow.

Snow Troopers, he counts a quick twenty—their whole squad—and he can see the signs of a skirmish. One body is dangling over the edge, another is collapsed reaching for a rifle they would never get to. Burnt holes and singed plastoid mark the visible parts of their armor, a couple leaving crater-sized chunks missing from being shot far too close. 

CT-113 scans them all, his HUD skittering from each body, looking for something, _anything_.

Life signs: **Negative**.

**Negative.**

**Negative.**

**Negative.**

No readings from anyone, and CT-113 winces when his HUD reads out their IDs.

 _FN-4964, CT-490, CT-203, FN-422, FN-9493_...The whole squad is sprawled lifelessly across the snow-cloaked stone, a haunting sight that lingers in his eyes. He kneels by one of them, and lays a hand on their gauntlet, but can't push himself to remove it like he's supposed to.

They’re disposable, meant for this duty. Were trained to die in situations like this, to follow their orders until the very end. Whatever they were fighting knew that. Whoever did.

And sudden awareness dawns on him, that someone _did this_ , either a group or one of the Mandalorians tore through a whole squad like they were those old-time battle droids. Alertness prickles over his skin, like a wave of ice water rushing over him.

He didn't like the Mandalorians, didn't know anything but how dangerous they're said to be. If they could do this to a squad...

CT-765 looks away angrily, swiveling around and marching back up to the other plateau in heavy steps. He has to talk to her after this.

The others shuffle nervously, uncomfortable in their grim surroundings, but he ignores them. He's missing something.

CT-113 hears the waves crashing now, closer to the cliff side and the ocean nearly fifty feet below them. The troopers are waiting for orders, yet he can’t bring himself to call them out, not quite yet. Something tugged at the back of his mind, something important. Inspects the cliff edge again, and—

Spots a body lying close to the cliff edge.

Not about to freeze, he merely reaches up to signal the other Troopers. Can hear their rustling, the light clicking of plasteel as they shift impatiently.

Their shape is dark, humanoid-looking. They're cloaked in darker fabric, maybe leathers, and a puddle of something dark spreads out underneath them.

 _Injured, hopefully dead already_. He walks forward, stepping closer to the body. 

CT-113 can’t stop the frisson of alarm that shivers down his spine, a prickling feeling over his skin. Something was going to happen, a foreboding weight sinking on his shoulders—

The figure rolls over sharply, a glimpse of sleek, silver metal in his HUD and a blaster leveled directly at his face.

Ducking, the blaster shot goes wide over his head. He whips out his rifle, but the figure is already moving to his feet and rolling to the side, aiming for him. There’s no cover, nothing for him to move behind, but he fires twice—

The figure, he can see now, is indeed a Mandalorian, with full armor and near battle-ready stance. They lunge sideways, the shots miss, and he can hear the others shout out, rifles firing relentlessly.

They miss terribly, as the figure swerves away and fires two more shots. CT-113 hears a choked yell of pain from behind him, but doesn’t dare turn around, keeping his eyes on the figure.

He aims again, fires, but they move and it pings off of the metal chestplate. It’s enough to make them stumble, a far cry from the menacing pictures he'd thought of.

One hand is pressed against their side, another holstering their blaster, and the unexpected action makes him hesitate for a second too long.

They stagger away, and his heart leaps into his throat as they throw themself off the cliff. He rushes forward, but they’ve already hit the water, a foaming echo left behind from the impact.

_What the kriff?_

The ocean was practically a death sentence. Cold enough to freeze inside out within minutes, if you didn't get dragged down by your gear first. To think they'd jumped _into it_ —

CT-113 pulls up his rifle, searching through its sights. Nothing but crashing waves and the foaming turbulence of the surf, icy, jagged spires of rock jutting up through the waters and slabs of broken ice littering the surface, until—

He catches a flash of silver.

It arcs through the ocean, leaving behind a darker trail that’s difficult to see even through his HUD. He tightens a finger around the trigger, can feel the tension on the mechanism.

Something whispers to him, a faint call in his ear.

No words, but it makes his heart thud in his chest, drags the willpower away from him, a soft but firm refusal, and hums quietly. No words, but—

CT-113 lowers the rifles.

Next to him, CT-504 curses viciously. The silver disappears to the churning depths, and he’s left with apprehension sitting heavily in his chest and dead squad mates all around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I know next to nothing about Storm troopers or military?

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed and had a happy MerMay!!


End file.
